Your Stupid Face
by SupernovaDancer
Summary: Short, cute Amy/Rory fluff, now a series, including about anything short and 11th Doctor, because my favorite Amy/Rory story has ended; I need something of this persuasion to read. On the boy and girl who waited, because now they don't have to wait alone.
1. Stupid Face

**A/N: I actually wrote with relatively current characters! Sorry I haven't done much of anything recently, today was my dance team's first performance and this week has been completely crazy. I'll get back into the swing of things soon enough. For now, here's a lovely Amy/Rory story (That rhymes! I'm very tired).**

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><p>Your Stupid Face<p>

She was crazy Amelia Pond. Feisty, dear little Amelia Pond. Imaginative, the adults said. The children usually settled for crazy.

As such, she didn't have many friends. Or any friends. Just her Raggedy Doctor, who was going to come back. But for now he wasn't here. And she was waiting.

A new kid was big news in a town as small as hers. And there was one now, just moved in. The family was named Williams. And Amelia was determined that the kid would be her friend. She just had to get to him or her – it didn't matter – before the other kids did. And while she might have been crazy, she was determined.

She put on her red rain boots and marched right over, as soon as her aunt would let her ("It isn't nice to disturb people while they're moving! They're busy!"). She rang the doorbell.

She had to wait a minute before the door was answered. But the rest of her life was waiting. She was used to it.

Because Amelia's been waiting for a little over a year. She's been crazy for a little over a year. And she's been alone for her whole life, except for one special night. She doesn't notice this, but she's not as sweet as she used to be. There's a fire that's starting, one that's going to burn for the rest of her life. Because without it, she'll get cold, waiting by herself all night long. Amelia Pond's already growing up.

A kid answered the door. Yes, on her first go, the kid! She didn't like to talk to adults first, they had always talked to other adults before she met them, and they knew. Or she told them. And they would say things ("Dear, I don't want you playing with that Pond girl. She isn't right in the head. She bites people!"). And Amelia didn't like being talked about.

"Hi."

Oh. She's…

Maybe he didn't hear me. It is kind of noisy in there.

"Hello?"

She's pretty.

Is he deaf or something?

"Hey!"

She's very pretty.

What's wrong with him?

"Hey, you!"

She's…beautiful.

He's just staring at me.

"Hey, kid!"

She's got pretty hair.

Why won't he answer me?

"Hey, crazy!"

And pretty eyes.

No, crazy wasn't good, that left her too open. He could say something mean, would he? Would he say anything? Maybe a rude remark would be better than him just…staring.

"Hey, stupid!"

Will she like me?

Does he hate me or something?

"Hey…stupid face!"

"Hum, uh! What! Hi!"

"I'm Amelia. Amelia Pond. And you're new. And a stupid face."

"I'm…uh…Rory. Yeah. That's me."

He looked at her closely. Wasn't she…

"You're Amelia? Aren't you…crazy?"

She looked at him closely. If she had known any language stronger than 'drat' she would have used it (Her stupid aunt – "Strong language is not proper for young ladies such as you. Or myself."). He looked a little nervous. He was new. She might have been a little loud there…Actually, with all the shouting, she might come across crazy.

"I'm not crazy, I'm waiting. But I'm waiting by myself."

She reached out and took his hand.

"C'mon. You're a stupid face, and I'm a crazy girl, and we're going to be friends."

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><p>"Does anyone ever call you Amy?"<p>

"Has anyone ever called you a stupid face?"

"You call me that all the time."

She's growing up.

"You can call me Amy."

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><p><strong>AN: The end. Thoughts? I don't write them very much at all. I hope you liked it...it was rather enjoyable to write.**


	2. Why are you still here?

**A/N: This is my strange brand of humor, where I angst for a page and then come out with a single funny statement. One curse word, and…no, that's it. Enjoy.**

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><p><span>Still Alive<span>

He's dangerous.

He knows that much – a thousand years of living with himself (he just pulls his age out of thin air anymore, making things up that are somewhat close to the answer, maybe, and no matter what he says, they're astounded; they can't even comprehend a lifespan ten times their own) and even he's died at least ten times. If it's that unsafe for him, imagine what it's like for the people around him. Since the Time War, it's gotten even worse. He's old now, and he burns as a fire, rages as a storm. So much for mellowing with age. The things he's seen, and the things he continues to see every day. The things he makes them see.

He makes people into weapons.

The creator of his oldest enemies saw it. He sees it. He takes her with him, and they run. She's young and innocent and beautiful, and so alive. And he ruins her. At first she stays the same, she's just like she was before, and her eyes are opened, and they're seeing the universe, and all of the beautiful, wonderful things. She can see what he sees. And then she sees the terrible things that go along with them. But she's still mostly the same; maybe she's stronger for it. And she slowly turns into him, really, but neither she, nor him, will notice. And then it happens – the big terrible thing that will drive her away. Maybe it's doomsday, maybe she falls in love, maybe she's needed elsewhere, maybe she just can't take it anymore. Maybe she dies.

And then, if he ever sees her again, she's different. In his absence, talking her way out of trouble doesn't work so well. In the real world, she needs to fight. And he's taught her how.

He was the Doctor because he wanted to make people better.

Two years seems to be the limit now. Most of them can only take it for one. Some don't even make it onto his ship before they burn for him. Two years. And he stands there, looking at her. Most of the time, he sees her, in all of her brilliance. But on occasion, he glances briefly, and she's being amazing, and all he sees is a clock, ticking down, grains of stardust running through his fingers. Until she's gone. Another life he's ruined, another person who's become a fighter because he was there and then he wasn't. Another brief interlude in what he realizes is a vast expanse of loneliness over, another person that he can't look at the same way again.

He's constantly aware, and they live day to day. They can't even comprehend that he's comprehending what he is comprehending. Eventually they realize they're a tiny part of his life, of everything, and sometimes it breaks them. The human race is very good at distractions, both for themselves and for him. They need to find themselves important, believe that they are bigger than they are. He shows them everything, and he shows them themselves. They can never go back to the way they were before.

The worst part is that she will always maintain that he has indeed made her better.

But Pond…

He's counting, and, really, she's known him for sixteen years. She's only travelled with him for two, but he's counting again, hours and days rushing by him and stacking themselves neatly, sparkling flecks of seconds assembling into the blue and gold minute, which stack into reddish, oblong hours which, by earth time, move into groups of twenty-four and meld into a circular day, forming into rectangular months. He knows when a year is complete because the stack of months will turn blue for the third time, and he has two of these years now, with change lying by the side, another sparkling shard of time tumbling onto the growing pile with every beat of his hearts. Over two years now. How did she do that?

She has died. She and Rory and River and he, himself have all died. Rory more than...he's really not so good at the not-dying thing. So how are they still alive? Intact? Putting up with this?

How are they not insane, not permanently dead, not vowing vengeance? After River, after their daughter turned out to be an alien, stolen away, and after he failed to find her, how are they still fine with waking up each morning and walking into the center of an alien ship and seeing his face? After Rory was killed by elderly people, died, was erased from time, came back as plastic, killed Amy, came back normal, drowned, and died again? Most people aren't so forgiving.

Amy sees his frown, notices he's been quiet for several minutes, and asks "What's up, Doctor? What's going on in that big alien brain of yours?"

He turns to her and Rory, eyes wide, and cries "Why the hell are you two still here?"

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry if I missed any of Rory's deaths there. Grr, pronouns…I have agonized over that. I also hope the explanation of his time-counting process was not confusing (It made perfect sense to me, but things like that tend to work in my head. For example, the letters c, k, n, v, and z and the number 7 are all varying shades of yellow). Let me know if I need to change or rework any of these things, or other things that I have not noticed.**


	3. Part and Parcel

**A/N: As I've been saying, this story is now a collection of one-shots and drabbles, because my favorite Amy/Rory story, "A Centurion and a kissogram in a big blue box" by a strange ant, has ended, and I need something like this to read. Also, I think I may have just written an 11/River story. I'm not sure how that happened, really. It's also a little more depressing than what this story will usually be. Um…enjoy.**

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><p>Part and Parcel<p>

She finds the right room, with a nudge in the right direction from the TARDIS, a gentle brush at the edge of her consciousness – "Turn left". She supposes that she is slightly telepathic, but with the conversations she's seen him have with the machine, her capacities are nowhere near his own. _Part_ Time Lord can be a bugger sometimes.

She sees things other people can't see, but can't see enough to know what they are, and hasn't had the education to know why. She can hear words from the TARDIS, while her parents can only feel the mental brushes, but he can conduct long-winded, technical conversations with his ship, write essays to her in his mind, and the lovely blue box could read him a novel back, for all she knows. She can regenerate, but it's an uncomfortable, drawn out process that lasted for six hours the first time: after the initial burst of energy, she came back to herself – but it was still her own face, glowing faintly back at her. There were periodic energy spurts like that for the next five hours, and they hurt like anything. She would lie there sobbing and all of a sudden throw her head back and let loose another column of golden light, falling forwards when it was done but still finding herself, herself. Her features morphed with agonizing slowness, and she could feel it, feel her eyes squeezing into a new shape and her nose drifting higher and lower before finding its perfect place. The second time, she was better at it – and she cut the pain very short by giving the rest of her regenerations (including most of the one she was on) to the very man she had just killed. And she doesn't regret it.

How is she supposed to really be a psychopath when she can hear other people in her mind?

But, really, dwelling on all of her pain and horrid experiences and such would make her a bit depressing to hang around with, so she shakes herself back into River, leaving Melody and Mels behind, still sitting somewhere in her mind, and lets herself in.

This library doesn't have a swimming pool. After he crashed the TARDIS in her mother's yard, it conducted necessary repairs first, but then brought another library out of nowhere, and moved all of the sopping-wet books that were valuable or irreplaceable or delicate or very, very old to this library, which smells markedly less of chlorine and markedly more dusty. Nice touch, the dust, considering that it's only about a year and a half old, and the TARDIS environment is more or less sterile.

The other library is somehow still full of books, and swimming pool, but the TARDIS thoughtfully installed another feature. The bookshelves look more like china cabinets now, with locking glass doors on each shelf, protecting the books from damage.

Lovely old girl, she thinks, and she feels something that vaguely resembles a purr in the back of her mind.

She weaves through the shelves, looking for him, not impatient, but purposeful. It has been a while.

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><p>"Hello, m-…err, Amy."<p>

"Hello, River!"

"Ah, do you…?"

"Know where the Doctor is? No, haven't seen him this morning, but he might be in the library."

"I was going to say, know who…"

She trails off at the look in her mother's eyes, and realizes that the question doesn't need answering.

"Ah…spoilers." She hates that word, really. You would think she uses it because she loves it, the way some people use 'verisimilitude' or 'erinaceous', but she uses it out of necessity, the way people use 'it'. And she hates that her life necessitates secrecy the way other peoples' lives necessitate pronouns.

"How'd you get here, anyway?" Amy asked. "We're in the vortex and you just walked through the door."

"He landed in my cell," River said "Although…I guess she landed in my cell. Sentient ships are brilliant like that. Turned the brakes off for me, too." She smiled, but felt, in her mind, an urgent whisper – "Library".

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><p>And here he is. He's bent over a large tome, hair in his eyes, as always, but a little more mussed than usual. His jacket is on the chair behind him, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up a little – but there's no escaping that bow-tie.<p>

Slowly, she realizes that she's having trouble figuring out what exactly he's doing.

He's reading, obviously, but he isn't wearing his 'I'm-so-very-clever' face, which means that he either doesn't know what he's reading about and isn't having trouble figuring it out, or that he already knows the material and it isn't difficult enough to warrant a smug look. He hasn't noticed her come in, though, which means that his full attention is on it, which, if it's so easy, is odd. He isn't happy with it, so he isn't reading it for enjoyment – he doesn't seem the type to read sad novels in his spare time. And no novel she's ever met is that large.

She creeps up behind him to get a glance at the page.

Hm.

Her Circular Gallifreyan isn't very good – Old High Gallifreyan is ancient and, as an archeologist, easier to find materials on. Circular Gallifreyan is too recent, and way too difficult for any professor alive. Doctor Song knows only a few words, and even the TARDIS won't help this time.

Eight, Time – she squints – planet? The, but that isn't very helpful. TARDIS (or old cheese, but she's pretty sure it's TARDIS) . Oh.

Burning.

And the character she knows best of all, the one carved into her heart. Doctor.

The TARDIS never does anything without a reason…

He's reading a book about himself.

"Come on, sweetie," She says quietly. "You don't want to read too much further."

Her voice softens to an almost imperceptible level. "Spoilers."

He lets her take his hand and lead him to the nearby couch, and sits down wordlessly, with an empty, vacant stare.

"I killed them" he says raggedly.

She holds him as he quietly cries, still just staring over her shoulder.

The past, she thinks, is as fraught with danger as the future.

In a time machine, you have to deal with both at the same time.

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><p><strong>AN: Thoughts?**


End file.
